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"Stop fighting it, or I’ll just snap your wrist," Sloane hissed, her voice like a razor blade against my ear.
She had me pinned against the damp brick wall of the alley, her forearm jammed hard into my throat. I could smell the ozone from her Enforcer gear and the faint, sharp scent of mint on her breath. Every time I tried to shift my weight, she pressed harder, her knee digging into my thigh to keep me locked in place.
"You're not a ghost, you're a glitch," she spat, her eyes scanning my face for any flicker of a lie. "Who modified you? Which lab? Give me a name and maybe I won't drag you back in chains."
I managed a jagged laugh, though it sounded more like a choke. "I don't... remember... the name, sweetheart."
"Don't call me that." Her grip tightened. She shifted her weight, her chest brushing against mine—a brief, accidental contact that sent a sudden, violent spark through my nerves. It wasn't static. It was deeper. Like a circuit had just closed in my spine.
I gasped, my muscles locking up. "What the hell did you just do?"
Sloane froze. Her eyes widened, not with fear, but with a sudden, sharp confusion. She didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned in closer, her brow furrowed. "I didn't do anything. You're the one with the illegal mods."
"Something's happening," I wheezed. "My chest... it feels like it's on fire."
Then the world tilted.
It started as a hum in the back of my skull, then escalated into a roar. A wave of heat slammed into me, radiating from where our bodies touched. I felt her heart—not just the thumping against my ribs, but the actual rhythm of it, pulsing in sync with mine.
Sloane let out a sharp, strangled sound. She didn't let go; she clamped onto me harder, her fingers digging into my shoulders. "What is this? Get off—"
She didn't push me. She pulled me. It was instinctive, a desperate need for more contact. I felt her breath hitch, her lips inches from mine, the air between us thick with a tension that had nothing to do with the fight and everything to do with the sudden, terrifying bridge forming between our minds.
"Your genes," she whispered, her voice trembling for the first time. "They're... they're matching mine."
"Matching?" I tried to pull back, but my body wouldn't obey. I was anchored to her. "I don't match anyone. I'm a blank slate."
"You're not blank," she snapped, though she was shivering. "You're a mirror. You're syncing with me."
Suddenly, a flash of white light exploded behind my eyelids. I wasn't in the alley anymore. I saw a sterile room, cold blue lights, and a woman—Sloane—looking younger, her face tight with a kind of disciplined grief. She was staring at a screen, a gene-sequence scrolling in red.
*Failure. Subject 09 rejected. Stability at 12%.*
I blinked, and the vision vanished as quickly as it came. I was back in the rain, staring into Sloane's eyes. She looked horrified. She had seen something too.
"Get out of my head," she snarled, but her voice lacked its usual bite. She sounded breathless. "Get out now!"
"I can't!" I yelled back, my voice cracking. "I'm not doing this!"
The heat intensified, turning into a searing pain that traveled from my chest down to my fingertips. My vision blurred, the neon signs of the slum bleeding into streaks of violet and gold. I felt a sudden, crushing void in my chest—a hunger for stability. And the only thing that felt stable in the entire city was the woman currently trying to arrest me.
I lunged forward, not to attack, but to grab her. My hands found her waist, pulling her flush against me.
Sloane gasped, her hands flying up to my chest to push me away, but they stayed there. Her fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt. We were shaking, both of us, locked in a desperate, clumsy embrace that felt like the only thing keeping us from disintegrating.
"Stop it," she whispered, though she was leaning into me. "This is... this is a malfunction. We need to separate."
"I can't breathe," I groaned, my forehead resting against hers. "Every time I move away, it feels like my heart is being ripped out."
She let out a frustrated, shaky breath, her lips almost touching mine. The power dynamic had shifted. She still had the cuffs on her belt, still had the rank, but right now, we were both drowning in the same neural storm. She was just as terrified as I was.
"If we don't stabilize," she muttered, her eyes searching mine, "our genetic cores will collapse. We'll both go into systemic failure in minutes."
"So what's the fix, Officer?" I smirked, though it was more of a grimace. "More hugging?"
"Shut up," she snapped, but she didn't move. Her thumb brushed against my collarbone, a slow, unconscious movement that sent a fresh jolt of electricity through my skin. "Skin-to-skin. High-density contact. It's the only way to balance the sync load."
I felt a surge of adrenaline. "Sounds like a dirty deal. You really want to do that with a fugitive?"
Sloane glared at me, her pupils blown wide. "I'd rather do anything than die in a gutter because of some lab freak's glitchy DNA."
She shifted, her leg sliding between mine to lock me tighter against the wall. The friction of her gear against my clothes was maddening. The air was thick with the smell of rain and something electric, something primal. I could feel her pulse racing in her neck, mirroring the frantic beat of my own heart.
"Fine," I whispered, my voice dropping an octave. "But if you try to cuff me while we're like this, I'm taking you down with me."
"Deal," she breathed.
Just as the tension reached a breaking point, a sharp, metallic *ping* echoed through the alley.
Sloane stiffened. Her head snapped toward the mouth of the alley. I felt her fear spike—not for herself, but a cold, calculated alarm.
"Someone's here," she whispered.
I followed her gaze. Three figures in matte-black tactical gear were stepping out of the shadows. They didn't have Enforcer badges. They had the silver insignia of the Core Labs—the same place I'd escaped from. The same place that had stripped my mind.
"Target acquired," one of them said, his voice distorted by a modulator. He raised a pulse-rifle, the barrel glowing with a lethal, humming light.
Sloane didn't let go. If anything, she gripped me tighter, her body shielding mine for a split second before she reached for her weapon.
"Stay behind me," she commanded, but her voice was strained. The sync was still pulling at us, a physical tether that made every movement a struggle.
"I can help," I said, feeling a strange, new power bubbling up in my veins—a residue of the sync. I could feel her combat reflexes, her tactical knowledge, leaking into my mind like a downloaded file.
"You're a liability," she countered, but she didn't push me away.
As the first soldier fired, the world slowed down. I didn't just see the bolt of energy—I felt it. I felt Sloane's instinct to dive, and before she could even move, my body reacted in perfect unison with hers. We moved as one, a single, blurred shadow diving into the trash-strewn gutter.
We hit the ground hard, chest-to-chest, the impact knocking the wind out of both of us. The pulse-bolt slammed into the brick wall where we had been standing, showering us in sparks and dust.
Sloane looked at me, her eyes wide with shock. She had never moved like that in her life. And I had never felt so connected to another human being.
"What the hell was that?" she gasped.
I didn't answer. I couldn't. Because as I looked at her, a memory that wasn't mine flooded my brain: a dark room, a needle, and a voice saying, *'The sync is the only way to unlock the Zero Signal.'*
Sloane's eyes suddenly glazed over. She gripped my arm, her fingernails digging into my skin. "You... you saw it too, didn't you?"
Before I could respond, a heavy boot slammed into my ribs, pinning me to the pavement. The soldier stood over us, his rifle aimed directly at Sloane's head.
"Step away from the asset, Enforcer," the soldier commanded. "Or we'll clear your head the hard way."